The bullet was gone. Dempsey’s angle of descent had allowed for it to pass through his shoulder completely. It meant one less job for later, but it left two open wounds. One entry. One exit. The extra wound would not double the blood loss, but it was far from ideal.

And it doesn’t leave me much time.

Dempsey was moving before the thought was even fully formed.

Back to the lane and towards 74th Street.

The Stratford’s service entrance.

FORTY-NINE

Eden Grace placed two more shots into the corridor, using her left hand so as to keep herself out of sight. The choice affected her aim, but her role here was not to kill. It was to keep whoever had the shotgun busy while Dempsey was out front.

So far, so good.

A pattern had quickly emerged. The first two shotgun blasts had taken out the door. A third blast had followed, sending the burning contents of a cartridge down the full length of the corridor. Grace felt the pellets pass her from behind the cover of the corridor’s corner. Still capable of tearing apart flesh, but too far away to do anything other than superficial damage to the structure.

Which makes Dempsey right, she had thought. This is a diversion.

Grace had returned fire with three shots of her own. Inaccurate but effective. All that was needed.

The pattern had been repeated three times since. A shotgun blast and three bullets in return. Until the final exchange, as Grace’s clip was exhausted. She managed two shots instead of three.

This time the shotgun was fired sooner. And twice.

Shooter’s counting, Grace realised. And he thinks I need to reload.

She pulled Dempsey’s Glock 26 from her waist, peered around the corner and fired a further three shots before the Remington could reload and shoot again. As she pulled the trigger she caught sight of the shooter retreating through the doorway, his attempt to enter the building aborted.

Braddock. The sonofabitch.

‘What happened to me bringing Dempsey to the parking garage?’ she shouted.

No answer.

‘Braddock. You listening to me, you piece of shit?’

For a moment it seemed like she would be met by silence again. Until:

‘Grace. That you?’

‘Who the hell else?’

Both voices were loud. Shouting. The inevitable result of gunfire.

‘So? What happened to the plan, huh, Braddock?’

‘What happened to “I’ll do my duty”?’

‘Can’t argue with that, I guess.’

‘No, you can’t. Now how about you come out and show yourself, sweetheart?’

‘You think I’m that stupid?’

‘I think you’re that screwed. But you’re better with me than with Cobb. He gets to you before I do, no chance you live.’

‘And what makes you think Cobb is getting anywhere near me?’

‘Because what’s gonna stop him? Dempsey?’

‘Already has,’ Grace replied. ‘And you’re next.’

Grace did not know if she was right. She hoped she was. And she had good reason. There had been no further shots from outside as she exchanged words with Braddock. If that meant Dempsey was dead, why had Cobb and the others not come through the front?